


Message

by grandfatherclock



Series: Edubation [3]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Community: widojest love, F/M, Masturbation, Safeword Use, Tail Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 09:37:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20851319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandfatherclock/pseuds/grandfatherclock
Summary: Jester stares up the ceiling of her room, examining the smooth white and biting the inside of her cheek as she triesdesperatelyto fight her boredom. Her bed sheets are disheveled from how she tossed and turned earlier, trying for sleep, and she raises a hand to run it through her hair as she slowly gives up on the possibility of falling unconscious. She kicked off her blanket earlier, the weight on her body didn’t seem to behelping, and it’s not like the cold particularlyaffectsher. Her pajamas are soft on her body, the fabric of the loose pink shirt she’s wearing a pleasant sensation. Her shorts, a pale blue with pink flowers sewn on it, are rumpled from how she shifted around for the last half hour, and her hair is amess, falling out from her bun. Jester Lavorregrimaces. “Thissucks,” she mumbles.





	Message

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to do [@dorcasdeadowes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorcasdeadowes/pseuds/dorcasdeadowes) for beta'ing!

Jester stares up the ceiling of her room, examining the smooth white and biting the inside of her cheek as she tries _desperately _to fight her boredom. Her bed sheets are disheveled from how she tossed and turned earlier, trying for sleep, and she raises a hand to run it through her hair as she slowly gives up on the possibility of falling unconscious. She kicked off her blanket earlier, the weight on her body didn’t seem to be _helping_, and it’s not like the cold particularly _affects_ her. Her pajamas are soft on her body, the fabric of the loose pink shirt she’s wearing a pleasant sensation. Her shorts, a pale blue with pink flowers sewn on it, are rumpled from how she shifted around for the last half hour, and her hair is a _mess_, falling out from her bun. Jester Lavorre _grimaces_. “This _sucks_,” she mumbles.

She braces herself on her bed, looking around her room. There’s nothing to capture her attention, her eyes impatiently flitting over the canvases leaning against her stand and the walls, her paintbrushes scattered on her desk and stood up in containers. Jester’s far wall is painted _real_ pretty, the _huge_ and heavy Nicodrani sun peaking out through the thick clouds. She painted a couple birds _too_, painted the slight hints of the moons only faintly visible in the crisp morning sky, and though the entire thing looks muted in the dark, she’s _proud _of it, it reminds her of _home._ She _grins_, and then looks to Beau’s side of the room, to the empty bed. Beau’s always _studying_, tends to fall asleep on the couch on the lower floor as often as she ends up stumbling into her bed. Her desk is full of messy notes and journals, and Jester slumps back in her bed, playing with the holy symbol latched onto her shorts. It’s _always_ with her, no matter _where_ she is, Jester finds the wood against her palm comforting.

There is _nothing_ to do, and she’s _completely_ alone. Jester is intimately aware of her nipples hard against the fabric of her shirt, not wearing a brassiere when she’s in _bed_—the wiring _digs_ into her sides, and it _hurts_. She sighs, a hand reaching out to hold her left breast, her covered nipple held between her two fingers. The cloth is _nice, _lightly scratching, and she massages her tit, raising her other hand to mirror the movement on her other breast. It’s _fun_, and she looks back at the ceiling, closing her eyes and biting her lower lip as she plays with herself. The stinging pain is grounding, and she makes a little noise of pleasure, her hips shifting as she feels herself getting a little wet _already_.

She _pinches_ her nipple, sighing at the sensation. When Jester moves, she feels the cloth of her underwear against her folds, lightly dragging against her wetness. Impatience is already _building_ in her gut, wanting her to reach down, to run her hands down her toned stomach and under her waistband. She could do it so _easily_, but she wants to drag this _out_. Patience has _never_ been her strong suit, no matter how many times she’s masturbated, fucking _shit_. Her cunt is _wet_, and she _wants_ to touch herself, and she isn’t so good at moderation, isn’t so great with _waiting_, not like other people in the Mighty Nein, not like _Cayleb_—

Caleb. Her eyes widen, and a mischievous smile plays on her lips. Her hand leaves her breast and reaches for her holy symbol, running her thumb over the cool wood. She lets go of her other breast and uses it to make somatic gestures, divine symbols sparking up and illuminating around her arms in a _glittering_ pink hue before they _fade_. Jester giggles as she casts _Sending_. “Heyyyyy, Cayleb.” She rucks up her shirt, so her breasts are exposed to the cool air. She massages them again, squeezing tightly and sighing, _knowing_ he can hear the pauses and sounds she makes between her words. “I’m _boreeeed, _are you _sleeping?_” Jester bites the inside of her cheek, suddenly worried she’s _interrupting_ his rest. “Tell me to shut up if _soooo_.” She twists her nipple between her fingers, and _ah_, fuck the _Traveler_, she’s so _wet_ already, imagining Caleb’s response to her words interspersed with slight sighs. “I’m _thinking_ of you, ma _chérie_.” She flushes a little as the term of endearment leaves her lips, and shifts her jaw, knowing her spell is about to end. “Can I have a _colour?_”

There’s a pause, and Jester thinks he really _might_ be asleep, wincing at the idea of startling him awake. Just as those doubting thoughts start to tear through her head, she hears _his _sigh, and _beams_, letting her legs pull apart as she watches that smooth ceiling, imagining it being _Cayleb_ hovering over her. His hair would curtain slightly, all muted and ghostly in the dark, and his face would be more open—it always _is_ under the muted light, when he can more easily get lost in his hands gripping her waist. The pause is him _thinking_, he’s always _thinking_, and she exhales as she listens to him breath, fingers continuing to squeeze her tits. _Green, Lavorre_, he says, sounding amused. His voice isn’t clouded, like he was just shaken awake. _I’m reading, don’t worry. Not sleeping_. He sounds so _gentle_ as he says _sleeping_, she can just _imagine_ him curled up in his bed with a book held by his fingers.

Jester _giggles_, the jittery feeling in her stomach already settling as she listens to him. Caleb sounds so _relaxed, _and Jester flutters her eyes shut, hands tight on her. _Are you touching yourself, Schatz?_ Jester whines a little, rolling her nipples between her thumbs, pressing them _hard_, and _sighs_ as she hears that intake of breath, him preparing to say something again. “I’d like you to run your hand through your hair for me, blueberry.” There’s another pause as he mulls over the rest of his words, and Jester exhales, hand already reaching the nape of her neck and trailing upwards. “Want to hear you.”

Jester _giggles_ at his uncharacteristic half-sentence, biting her lower lip, and impatiently recasts _Sending_, hand on her holy symbol before _racing _back over to her head. Her other hand continues to play with her nipple, as she lazily shifts her hips and feel the drag of the cloth against her cunt. “_Okayyyy_,” she laughs, and _tugs_ her hair in the way that _he_ would, closing her eyes and allowing a moan past her parted lips. It’s louder than she normally is, but the only one who could _possibly _overhear besides Caleb is _Fjord_ in the other room, and he notices _nothing_. Her hair has fallen out of its bun, and she grins as it falls all around her face, framing it. “Tell me what to _do_, Cayleb, that’s what… that’s what I’m in the _mood _for, okay?” She trails her hand back to her chest, squeezing and massaging, closing her eyes and imagining rough thumbs playing with her tits. She twists one nipple _hard_, imagining the wet warmth of Caleb’s mouth rather than the coolness of her freckled hand, and moans into the _Sending _spell, whimpering his name and sighing through it.

There’s a pause, and then she nearly _jumps_ as she hears him _immediately_. _Then it’s on my terms_, he says, but it’s not like _Sending_—that sounds like mail in your head: long, a lilting stream of words, _obvious_. This is more like a whisper in her ear, short and quick and _intimate_, and Jester _knows_ this cantrip, though it’s Nott who has used it more on her than Caleb. She _sighs_ in response, allowing those six seconds to drag out, and she can _hear_ his grin as he says, _Touch yourself through your adorable little shorts, blueberry. Keep it light_.

“_Okay_,” Jester says breathlessly, a hand eagerly reaching down to press against the fabric. She _moans_ as she feels her finger press in against her folds, stroking herself through the slide of the cotton and her panties. She _feels_ how wet her underwear is, and _wants_ to thumb her clit, but he didn’t say to, so she _whines_ into the _Message_ cantrip as she shallowly runs a finger through her cunt, feeling the fabric against her. _Adorable_, she thinks, beaming to herself. Her curtains swish slightly against the cool wind, and Jester runs her other hand through her hair again, imitating the way his rough fingers would trail over the side of her neck.

_Keep your legs apart_, he says, his voice so _calm_ against all her little sighs, and she can just _imagine_ his affectionate little smile, already knowing she had her legs spread out. Her tail flicks around her, snapping lightly against the bed as she widens her legs for the empty room to see. Her panties slide more easily against her, and Jester lets out a choked moan as her fingers brush against her clit through her layers. She wants so _badly _to touch herself there, wants to slip her hand past her waistband, but he didn’t tell her she _could_. _Other hand on your breast, roll your nipple between your two fingers._

Jester _grins_, hand returning to play with her breast again. She forces her movement to be _quicker_, pinching her nipple in tandem with how she brushes past her clit as her fingers move against the cloth. Her legs raise slightly, her feet firmly planted against the rumpled bed sheet as she gets in a more comfortable position. “_Cayleb_,” she whimpers, her cunt clenching against _nothing_. She feels so _empty,_ and all she can think of is Caleb’s dick, slicked and warm and pressing _in_, stretching her until her hands were scrambling for the bed sheets, bracing herself as he snapped his hips, hands so firm and _claiming _on her. “Please,” she says into the silence, _hearing_ her fingers desperate against her shorts.

There’s a pause, and she _hears_ the rustle of a page flipping. Jester _smiles_ at that despite how she grinds against her hand, desperate sounds coming out past her parted lips. He controls the sounds that come through the cantrip, he _meant_ for her to hear that, and the thought of him sitting languidly on his bed with his legs crossed and an open book on his lap is nearly too _hot_ to bear. She could just _picture_ him looking at her with disinterested eyes, smiling as she ruts against her hand, flipping to that next fucking page. _Pull down your shorts, Lavorre. I want to hear you touch yourself. _He says it so matter-of-_factly_, and there’s another _goddamn_ page turning.

Jester eagerly raises her ass to pull up her shorts over her knees to her feet.. Her panties are next, and they’re so _wet_ as she bunches them between her feet firm to the bed sheet. She can _see_ the wetness from here, and Jester _moans_ as she lowers herself down. The bed sheet is cool against her bare ass, cool against her thighs trembling slightly in their anticipation, cool against her hair strewn against it. Her bare freckled skin looks so _obscene_ as she sets her legs back in her previous position and lowers her other hand down to keep her folds open with her two fingers. Her thumb from her _other_ hand slowly circles her clit, and she begins to squeeze it in small intervals like _he _would, eyes fluttering shut as she remembers how the warmth of his lips feel sucking her there. She moans as she _pinches_ her clit, so glad to not have to salvage this sensation from the _layers_, and whimpers, _“Please,”_ as another finger circles at her entrance. 

_Another_ flip of the page, that _motherfucker_. She laughs breathlessly, and then _groans_ as she hears his voice whispering into her ear. _One finger, Lavorre_. He sounds so _amused_, but also… _thoughtful_. His voice is smooth, but there’s a slight unevenness to it—Jester wonders if he’s finally done playing his little game, if he’s ready to stop pretending he isn’t _affected_ by how she whimpers, how she writhes, how her fingers sound pressing against her clit.

There is _something_ in his voice, something that he’s _planning_, but she’s too thankful to question it further, her tail flicking around in _delight_ as she trails a finger through her folds from the hand _not_ thumbing her clit, getting her finger slick. She closes her eyes as it sinks into her, feeling relief at finally being _filled_, insufficient as the stretch is. She curls her finger in practiced movements, dragging it against her interior walls, and _twists_ in her bed sheets, moans leaving her lips as she pushes her finger in as deep as she’s able. It’s _hardly _enough, and she _clenches_ against it, trying desperately to ease some of the pressure she’s feeling. “Cayleb,” she murmurs breathlessly, groaning and _arching_ a little as she rubs her clit, her finger moving and stretching inside her. “Feels… feels _good_.” It _does_, too. This delightful torture, him slowing down her fast pace, _does_ feel good. She just can’t _wait_ to ruin him for this.

_Mein Name klingt schön, wenn du ihn sagst,_ he sighs, and he sounds so _fond_. His voice in its native Zemnian is so _beautiful_, and Jester lets out another moan as she imagines his pale blue eyes meeting hers, that half-smile widening as his hand rests on her cheek. He would move that rough thumb in circles, he always does, whether it’s her face or thigh or ass he’s touching. She’s rolling her hips to her sole finger, her sighs interspersed with _please _and his name, again and _again_ passing through her lips. She doesn’t know how much _Message_ sends back to him, and gets a _leetel_ pleasure at the thought of her pleading cutting off—it’s only _fair_ after he’s dragging this pleasure through her so _slowly_.

_Two fingers_,_Lavorre_, he murmurs, an echo in the shell of her ear, and Jester _squeals_ in delight. Her second finger trails around her entrance for a moment before sliding in _carefully_, and she closes her eyes as she shifts, trying to adjust to the stretch. Jester sighs as she rests her two fingers still for a moment, before _stretching_—and _ah_, her hips _roll_ as a desperate moan escapes past her lips, her legs _shaking_ as she moves. She makes the same movement again, and her eyes close for a moment at the flash of pleasure, her body trying to get used to how her fingers shift inside her. She curls them again, and begins to thrust them into her in patterns that leave her breathless, make her throw her head back as she bites her lower lip, soft moans loud against the stiff silence of her room. All she can _hope_ is that Fjord is as unperceptive as _ever_, and that what Nott said about the _Message_ cantrip, that only the sender and the target could hear, is _true_.

Caleb’s voice is careful the next time he casts _Message_, and Jester _sighs_ as she hears his breathing in her ear again, hears that breathing as he prepares to speak. She pinches her clit as sound tears from his throat, rougher than it was earlier, making her gasp and jerk her hips forward up against her fingers. _You ever taken your own tail, Lavorre? Tell me a colour_. His voice becomes gentler over the second sentence, the softness as he says _colour_ making her blink and _beam_, and though he’s still in _charge_, still _dominant_, it’s _clear_ in the cadence of his voice that this a question, that he’s not _telling_ her to do something. That he understands the two of them have an _out_, that they don’t _have_ to do _anything._

Jester _hasn’t_ taken her tail before—her foray into what she allowed inside her cunt before she joined the Mighty Nein was just her fingers. Over the course of their adventures, it became a vibrator she bought from the woman who operated that smut shop Caleb loved so _much_ in Zadash, a _super_ pretty dildo she found in Nicodranas when she visited back home, and then _other_ people’s fingers, _other _people’s lips, eventually _other_ people’s dicks. It isn’t unheard-of to touch yourself with your tail, Jester asked her mother about it when Marion gave her the sex talk—she explained that _some _tieflings like to use the spades of their tails to masturbate. Jester hasn’t ever really _considered_ it before, but as she looks to her flitting tail, staring at her heart-shaped spade, a small smile crawls on her lips. Better now than _never_, huh?

_You don’t have to, blueberry_, Caleb says urgently, his voice interrupting the solitude. His voice sounds so _present_, so _close_ in her ear, and he sounds _upset_… _merde, _she didn’t _respond_, _fuck. _He probably thinks she’s _upset_ with him, _fuck._ _I would never force you to._ He sounds _intent_, his words a _promise_—just a couple months ago, Jester explained to him that he _could_ say no, him looking embarrassed and ashamed and his hand tight on hers. But he _understands_ now, and he’s so _eager_ for boundaries, so _eager_ to make sure he never hurts her, so _eager_ to assure that they have the words to protect themselves and each other.

Jester _flushes_, immediately as he finishes talking rushing to say, “I _want_ to, I was just _thinking_ about it. _Green, _Cayleb, promise.” She stretches her fingers again, thrusting _deeper_ and moving her fingers in opposite directions, and a _keening_ noise stumbles past her lips as she rolls her hips. She makes her tail curl closer, closer to the folds of her cunt, and _sighs_, waiting for his voice in her ear. Now that it’s come up, _all_ she can think about his her long tail slowly pumping into her as she _writhes _in her bed. She widens her legs, thumbing her clit as she waits for his response, and arches from the momentary _pinching_ pleasure before sinking back against her bed sheets. She _knows_ how exposed she looks right now, _knows_ Beau would see her parted freckled legs if she stumbled in, see her shorts and wet panties pooled against her feet, see her tail just an _inch_ from rubbing itself on her clit, see her two fingers deep into herself, see light bruises on her breasts. The thought makes her _more_ wet, and she bites her lower lip as her fingers continue to thrust into her.

_Are you sure?_ He sounds so _concerned_, so _caring_.

Jester wants to fuck him into the mattress, she _really _does. He’s so good, such a good boy, so fucking _good_ for her, and she wants him _in_ her, wants it to _his_ dick she’s grinding against. She wants it to be _his_ face she’s looking at, she wants _him_, so _fucking_ bad. “_Green_, Cayleb,” she repeats, and moans at a particularly deep thrust of her fingers, feeling them curl inside her as she rubs her clit at the same time. “_Please_, I want it _so_ bad.” Her spade is resting right up against her folds, cool against her cunt, and she wants it in her so _much_—

_Then go ahead_, he whispers, sounding _thoroughly _endeared by the aching desperation in her voice, _thoroughly _endeared by _her_. Jester hasn’t heard that damn book in a _while, _and the thought of being the _only _thing he can think about, that all his magic and spells and _scrolls _don’t come _close_ to her trembling sighs whispered into his ear, is so fucking _much _that she has to close her eyes in that moment. She can just _picture_ him with that wire in his hand, casting and casting and _casting_, all to keep her company as she touches herself. _Moan as you take yourself, blueberry._

Jester sighs just for him, pulling out her fingers and _already _missing the stretch they gave her as she touches her spade. It’s _thicker_ than any dick she’s taken, but her tail is thinner elsewhere under the spade, and she bites her lower lip as she drags her fingers against it to get it slicked. Her tail _twitches_ as she touches it, jumpy in reaction to all her anticipation and _excitement_, and she forces it to still with a clench to her spine. Her other hand continues to play with her clit, teasing and rubbing and circling it, and she _moans_ as she hears Caleb murmuring supportive words in her ear, calling her _perfect_ and _beautiful _and _Schatz_ as her tail comes closer to her cunt, her spade getting further slicked on the wetness of her folds. It’s such a _strange_ sensation, she’s never had it probing her like _this_ before, but as she touches her clit and rolls her hips to her hand, her cunt feeling _achingly _empty, it’s as natural as breathing to have the spade just _touching_ her entrance finally push _in_.

And _oh_, it’s _big_. She never thought her pretty _leetel _spade was big before, only ever holding it to wrap pretty ribbons and jewelry around to parade in front of others, using it to snag that last pastry from the box Beau was holding as her two hands held _other _pastries—Caleb _grinned_ at her then, and she winked conspiratorially, offering him one that he took after a charged considering moment, their hands _just _touching—but _ah_, it’s _big, Cayleb_. She realizes she’s murmuring to him in between her whimpers, murmuring in between when she can hear him encouraging her in her ear, murmuring in between the rolls of her hips, whispering for _him_—it’s strange experiencing something so personal in the privacy of her room with him in her ear, only existing in this moment as far as she’s _willing_ for him to be. And she _is._ Willing. So she _moans_ his name as she _twists_ her clit between her fingers in the way that _he _would, gasping as she feels her spade work its way through, _pushing_, pushing until—

Jester’s whimper is _desperate_ as her tail pumps into her, thinner as it drags against her inner walls. It’s so _unlike_ any dildo she’s ever worked into her, so _unlike _any cock she’s ever taken. She’s thrusting up, her tail _arcing_ in the air as it works into her in patterned movements, and Jester _knows_ how obscene her wide legs look right now. Her tail feels _pretty _fucking deep inside her, as deep as any dick, and she rubs her clit hard, clenching as hard as she’s able on that drag of her spade, on the too-thin sensation of the rest of her tail following in after it. Her face feels hot, probably all flushed and dark, and her movements are getting harder, more intense as she fucks her tail, her other hand rising to play with a nipple again the pattern she’s slowly establishing. She’s faintly aware that she’s mumbling in this haze between the roll of her nipple between her fingers and the momentary flashes of pleasure from her clit that it’s too _thin_, she wants _more_, she wants _your cock in meee, Cayleb_.

Caleb lets out this quiet little laugh, and she knows he can tell she’s _pouting_, her lower lip jutted out as she thrusts up, her ass braced against the rumpled bed sheet as she _arches_ to the delightful and _aching_ torment of too much and not _nearly _fucking enough. Her tail makes obscene sounds pumping into her, like her fingers desperate against her clit, and she _whines_, squeezing her breast as he _laughs_—he sounds so _fond_, and she wants his rough hands on her _now_. _Oh, blueberry,_ he says, sounding a little in awe. Jester twists her nipple in the way he would’ve if he were here, closing her eyes and imagining for a moment those fingers on her aren’t _cold_ and freckled and blue, but _warm_—his kind of warm, the searing kind. Her legs are wider apart now, her feet farther as she drags them down in the way she chases fullness, chases _sensation_, and she feels her panties and shorts tugging, stretched between where her legs separate. _You’ll have my cock in you soon, you warm it so well anyway. Like you were made for it._

_Oh_, that isn’t _fair_—he _knows_ how much this turns her on, how much she loves having him stretch her open. She _moans_ desperately in response, her spade pushing up against her inner walls in that way that has her throwing her head _back_, has her _whimpering_ Caleb’s name as her legs tremble in their position. “_Please_,” she begs, hand so _tight_ on her breast. She wants to come so _fucking_ bad, all she needs are his _words_. The way her hips grind against her tail is uneven now, stuttering and shaking, and every flick on her clit has her clenching her spade _hard_, chasing this imitation of cock straining against, _sliding_ against, her cunt. “_Please_ lemme come, Cayleb,” she moans, biting her lower lip. Then, after a moment, she _grins_—because he can’t resist her _either. _So she allows desperate and obscene—_loud_, she fucking _prays _to the Traveler, the _sexiest _god in her totally objective opinion, that Fjord is firmly asleep in that way he usually tends to be—sounds out of her mouth, these whimpering noises only interrupted by _please _and _Cayyyleb_.

_Come for me_, he says after a moment, sounding _very _pleased—and _aroused_, there’s that low roughness in his voice that comes from when he’s turned _on_. Jester _doubts_ he’s _hard_, Caleb tends to have a tight lid on that, only getting an erection when he intends to _fuck_, but _still_, she imagines his cock straining against his trousers, pictures his hand on the base of his dick, his blackened fingertips trailing his length. Her lips closed, she squeezes her tit _hard_, jaw clenching as her tail _curls _inside her in that perfect way Caleb’s fingers do when he’s making her fall apart, and _twists_ her clit, _clenching_ on her _tail_, and _fuck, _the spade feels so _big—_

Jester’s world flashes _white_, and she _swears_ she sees stars as her back locks in this _perfect_ arch for a _gorgeous_ moment. Her bed sheets are _further _disheveled underneath her writhing body as her toes _dig_ into them, the feeling of the cloth _grounding_ against her feet bracing her on the bed. She’s tight around her tail for another moment as she _comes_, this perfect stretch that in that half-second doesn’t feel like too much or too little, feels just _right_, just _enough_, and then _slumps _back into her bed, hair all messy as her chest heaves. Jester lets go of her breast, her legs _sliding _until she’s laid out on the bed, and can _hear _Caleb’s approving, _Well done_, as her moans quietly subside. Her tail slowly pulls out from her cunt, wet and glistening with her slick, and she _sighs_, brushing it against the cloth of her shorts as she kicks the clothes away, getting up and sitting pantless on her bed. “I didn’t do anything for _you_,” she says in response, and then wiggles her eyebrows even though he can’t _see_ her. “Want me to listen to _youuuuu_ come?”

Caleb laughs, and Jester’s heart feels all shivering as she imagines his beautiful smile. He would be rubbing the nape of her neck, she suspects, his pale eyes glittering with the arcane lanterns. He couldn’t cast _Dancing Lights, _that would require _concentration_, and she imagines him holding that _wire _in his hands, twisting as he listened to her moan his name. _Fuck_ the Traveler, that image is so _hot_. “No, tonight was for _you_, blueberry.” She _beams_ at that, a hand raising to run through her hair as she collects her shorts and panties to put in her laundry basket. She feels all _exposed_ prancing around with _nothing _to cover her _lower parts_, and grins as she reaches for her closet. “I’m alright, promise.” His voice is _sure_ in her ears.

“If you _sayyyyy _so,” she sings, reaching to tug on some new underwear and grab another pair of shorts. These ones are _yellow_, all pretty and puffy with sun designs, and she smiles in the mirror, spinning in a circle as she _poses_ for herself. “_Thank you_, Cayleb, I’m feeling all _fucked out_ now.” She can just _imagine_ his face as she says that and _grins_, closing her closet and _jumping _back into the bed, feeling the rumpled bed sheets under her knees, her face against the pillow.

… _Anytime, Schatz_, he promises, and Jester grins, blinking and sinking against the bed. She falls asleep to that promise soon enough, the curtains shifting with the wind, and loses herself to unconsciousness, loses herself to imagining his rough blackened fingertips running through her hair.

Her sleep is peaceful.


End file.
